


The Good Times

by Silverilly



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Breathplay, Creampie, First Time, Lots of Cum, Multiple Orgasms, Other, POV Second Person, Penis In Vagina Sex, Praise Kink, Reader has a vagina, Reader-Insert, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverilly/pseuds/Silverilly
Summary: It’s your first time, and Jack is determined to make sure it’s a good time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Degari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Degari/gifts).



The shabby day clothes on Jack’s body are more intimate than any embrace you have ever held. As a soldier, his uniform has practically become part of his persona—yet here he is, wearing only jeans and a slightly stained white t-shirt. It’s modest, like the bedroom around you, but the flimsy clothes only add to Jack’s sexiness. For example, while his shirt is looser than his uniform, the shoddy material stretches tightly along his pecs, pushing forth the outline of his very erect nipples.

Oh, you are not prepared for this.

He advances toward you, his eyes dark. "Feeling all right?"

Your nod is meeker than you would care to admit. "Of... of course."

Convincing.

Ignoring your nerves, you approach, your eyes locked with his as you trace the scars cutting through his face. The ridges are deep, etching a pattern in opposition to his wrinkles, but he is calm even as you lead your hand to cup his cheek. Meanwhile, you can practically feel your heart in your throat.

“ _Kiss me_.” Your voice carries more authority than you actually feel, but it works. You catch only a glimpse of the smile on his lips before they press against your own.

His kiss is forceful, his hands rough as the stubble now scratching against your face. You feel his tongue, insistent, against your lips, and you open your mouth gratefully to welcome it in. As his resolute nature takes you over, you find yourself pressing your hips into his, finding confidence through his initiative. It’s agonizing when he breaks away. Still, when he speaks, it’s worth it: “You know what you’re doing, dontcha?”

You flash him a wide smile, but your heart flutters a bit. You have, after all, kissed people before—but in general, you’re not all that experienced. In fact, if this leads to where you’re hoping it leads, there’s going to be quite a few _firsts_ tackled tonight. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Guess not.” His lips return, animalistic, messy—but practiced. His chest, flush with yours, shudders under the intensity of his breathing, and he keeps himself anchored by holding your leg between his. As he nibbles on your lower lip, his hands drop low to grope your ass without any semblance of subtlety. You respond enthusiastically, tugging at his hair, but when one of his hands slips between your legs, you can’t help but stiffen.

“…Huh.” He breaks away and frowns, staring you dead in the face. “Guess I misread something.”

“No, it’s not that!” And it isn’t. It isn’t that you don’t want to—you really, _really_ want to. It’s just…

Recognition crosses his face. “Got it. This your first time, kid?”

You nod, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you find yourself staring at the bulge in his pants—which doesn’t actually help calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“Okay…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sure this is what you wanna do?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

“All right then.” And then he’s kissing you again, even more deeply than before. He tastes sweeter than you had expected him to. He should taste like liquor and cigars and masculinity, the spoils of war and rage. And, to be fair, his woodsy scent is intensely masculine—but his lips are soft and sugary. He tastes like familiarity.

He tastes like home.

Jack’s hands, meanwhile, are becoming ever stronger, ever braver. They are not yet between your legs again, but he grips you hard. It's clear that if he wanted to, he could break every bone in your body. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for you, he seems to have other plans. He pushes you—gently, but hard enough that you fall onto the bed. The force startles you, but what completely scatters your thoughts is the moment when he takes off his shirt.

You were right; his muscles are that tremendous, that impressive. His body is as scarred as his face, evidence of war tearing through trained and elderly muscles, but the wounds only serve to exemplify his strength. The rough forest of greying chest hair, which dips temptingly into the waistband of his jeans, doesn't make it any less fascinating for you—and yes, his nipples are hard.

It's easy to admire the view from this vantage point, and you're suddenly quite aware that if all you do today is stare at him, you’ll be more than satisfied. Again, however, he seems to have other plans, bending over you already.

“Your turn.”

He pulls you into a seated position, his hands under the hem of your shirt. He doesn't undress you yet, despite his confident tone. In his actions, he's clearly asking a question—one you're more than happy to answer.

"Take it off." Your voice rings clear in the bare room, bringing a grin to his face—and as he smiles, his canines seem especially sharp. For all that you’re enjoying ordering him around, he seems to be more than happy to obey. Holding you steady with his free hand, he pulls the shirt over your head, leaving you feeling quite bare in only your bra. Still, you're not bare enough. The fabric, feeble as it may be, is too restrictive for your lustful brain. You want him to touch your body, and you want it now.

You're about to level that command, but something in his face makes you stop. The expression is difficult to read, his smile disappearing, his eyes wide but guarded. Your heart trips; is something wrong? Maybe this is going the wrong way—maybe he's changed his mind about sleeping with someone so inexperienced—maybe he hates what he's seeing. The longer he stares, the more uncomfortable you feel. You're about ready to pack up your shirt and leave when, finally, he speaks.

“ _God_.” His voice is practically a growl. “ _Beautiful._ ”

And then his hands are back on your body, his callouses scratchy against your exposed skin. He doesn't pause in any place, running his fingers along your back, your stomach, your neck. You lean into his touch, but he still hasn't gone anywhere near your bra, and it's driving you crazy. Finally, you grab his wrists and press his hands against your still-covered chest.

His wolfish grin returns.

In an instant, he is groping your breasts. He pushes you back down, his hips straddling yours. If his nipples weren't enough to let you know how he's feeling, his hard cock between your legs is a pretty good indicator—as is the veracity in each grasp of your body. As he kneads into you, he leans downward, his mouth against your ear. "You are so incredible," he rasps before latching onto your earlobe with those sharp teeth. You can't hold back a whimper, especially as his hands slip under your bra. You take initiative, reaching behind yourself to unhinge the garment, practically ripping it away. With your breasts now free to the cold air, your invitation is evident, and he accepts it.

His hands continue to explore your breasts, massaging them, pulling slightly at your nipples. Meanwhile, his mouth moves away from your ear and into your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin with abandon. Your fingernails surely leave half-moons into his sturdy flesh as his lips continue their trail to your collarbone, drawing temptingly southward—but he keeps teasing you, diving away, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your mouth. Impatiently, you pull back.

"Kiss me." It's not the first time you've made the command, but you make your meaning clear and push his head against your chest. Like a happy little puppy—well, a feral one—he presses his mouth into you, his tongue tasting your nipple before he takes it in for an open-mouthed kiss. Your breathing shallows, pushing your breast deeper into his mouth.

You want to grind against him, make him feel as good as he makes you feel—but his hips are no longer pressed into yours. You mewl in protest, but soon realize that he's made space now for his hand, which dips under the waistband of your pants.

You're determined to make this count, but his touch is featherlight against the ridge of your underwear. Always, he is cautious, careful. It's sweet, and given your nerves, you do appreciate it—but you also really, really want to cum into his hands. "Touch me," you breathe, your voice quite a bit whinier than expected, trapped in a whimper as you feel his teeth lightly graze your nipple. "Please."

It's not all that commanding of a tone, but it works. His fingers delve into your panties, pushing them away from your skin, making you squirm in response—not that you weren't already squirming. He grazes against your folds, feeling how wet you already are, taking advantage of your arousal to spread it through your lips. You lean, again, into his touch.

He traces you slowly, delicately, frustratingly—and his mouth is the opposite, pushing your breath out of its rhythm as he lavishes you with his tongue. “ _More_ ,” you gasp—and then he is inside you, one finger followed swiftly by the other, curling against your sensitive body as his palm grinds against your clit. You practically jump to attention, writhing against his administrations. It's so sudden, so fast, each push of his hand sending an electric streak of arousal coursing through your body. His free hand palms your free breast, taking you completely, taking you fully, taking you always. You can't believe it, but you're already almost ready to cum—

But you're _not_ ready to cum yet. You’re craving something else, something even better than his practiced fingers. Already, you miss the sensation of his cock between your legs. Not quite knowing what to do, you seize his wrist, and he stops.

God, you hate that he stops. What are you thinking?

"Everything all right?"

You nod, panting hard. Everything is more than all right—but it could be even better. "Fuck me."

He chuckles. "I am."

You huff. Surely he knows what you mean. " _I want your cock inside me_."

For the first time since you hinted at your virginity, true hesitance flashes across his features. He’s so careful, so gentle—but you don’t need that right now. With a sweet smile, you press your hand into his neck, tightening just enough to restrict his airflow. “You’re gonna do as I say, right?” you ask, your voice ever so light.

His face breaks into a grin, and he nods emphatically. He would probably laugh if he had the breath to do so.

“That’s better.” Your release is met with him gasping a little. Still, the lack of oxygen doesn't seem to influence his strength enough to keep him from picking you up and flipping you over, so that you’re now on top of him.

He practically purrs. "Nice view."

You try not to get caught up in how good his words alone make you feel. On the other hand, if all he did was say nice things about you, you'd probably still cum on the spot.

But this is a lot better.

"Take off your pants," you say, still enjoying the little kick you keep getting from giving orders. He doesn't hesitate, lifting you just slightly to tear away both his pants and his underwear, and—oh. Oh, that's... nice.

His cock is inviting—longer, honestly, than you had expected it to be. There may not be any scars here (lucky him), but the tufts of wiry grey pubic hair support the rugged look that the rest of him carries. It fills you with a hunger that distracts you from your own body even as you pull away the rest of your clothing—but before you can straddle him again, he opens his mouth: “Fuck.”

You try to play it off coolly. "Like it?"

"I want every inch of that—”

You place your finger against his lips. "Shh," you say sweetly. "We're busy."

When he sucks your finger into his mouth, you know you've had enough time to wait.

You join him now, taking your throne again in his lap, his cock flush and warm against your aching pussy. Oh, you're still nervous, but there's too much desire to manage that right now. You pull yourself into position, delicately lifting his cock to press against your entrance, lowering yourself bit by bit onto his length.

At first, your body strains against him; there's a lot to take in. He doesn't force you forward, although he responds deliciously to your pussy with a groan. Just the tip of him makes you feel so full, so achingly full, and you don't know how you will ever make the most of his tremendous length.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so tight.” You can tell by how he says it that it’s not a complaint.

“Yeah?” you say, taking him a bit deeper. “Tell me what else you like.”

“Your skin,” he says, running his fingers along your thighs. “It’s so soft. And those—” His breath hitches as you twitch involuntarily, pulling him even tighter inside you. “Those… your eyes. That colour, that shape… it’s gorgeous. Fuck, your whole face is gorgeous. I love—I love that nose.”

You ease yourself back and forth, letting him fill you as much as you can. Your eyes fall closed, but you force them open again; you want to see him. God, he's so attractive. He bites his lip under your gaze, and you respond by lightly holding his throat. You want to keep touching him, everywhere, always—but there is time for that.

“I like these,” he says, still rubbing your thighs, “and these—” He’s at your hips now. “And these—” He slides along your waist, your belly. “And _these_.”

As you ride him, he reaches forward, taking your breasts once more into his hands. It makes you laugh. “Didn’t take you for a boob man.” The words barely leave your lips before they’re caught in a gasp, his cock pushing deep into you. The extra jolt makes you forget whatever it was that you were talking about.

“And your voice,” he adds. “That accent—that’s a _sexy_ fucking voice.” 

His movements are faster now—harder. With the increasing momentum, he speaks less and less—but his body talks, and it merges seamlessly into your own. As you fill deeper and deeper, you forget yourself. All of your anxieties melt away, replaced with the sheer momentum of this moment, this peace. Instinctively, you reach for your clit, already deliciously swollen from fucking him. You can take him—all of him.

Every thrust seems to send your heart into your throat. You respond with vigor, pushing against him in rhythm, helping him along—though you doubt he needs your help. Still, he seems to appreciate it, groaning against you, his grip becoming less and less tender. He has you, entirely, fucking you hard and deep and long and oh, god, he’s so attractive, and it’s hard to think of anything else as your hips slam against his over and over again and each push sends pleasure through you, closer and closer to the edge until finally, finally, _finally_ —

An unearthly howl rips from your throat as you cum, shivering with the waves of your orgasm. You’re blinded by it, slipping, losing control—but he doesn’t let you fall, grabbing your hips, continuing to drive himself into you. You wrench open your eyes (when did they squeeze shut?) and gaze into his, though your vision is still unfocused. It’s all too much, too _good_ —and it’s exactly what you want. Spurred on through the coursing pleasure, you kiss him, teeth smashing into his a bit from sheer lack of control. And slowly, as carefully as it had built up, your climax fades away.

A sheen of sweat glints in the hair of his chest, but you don’t care, collapsing against him—and then you realize, of course, that he’s not done. Embarrassed, you return to riding him, flicks of sensation now threatening to overwhelm you. In response, he grins.

“I’ll take care of this.”

His arms latch around your back, pulling you close to him, pulling his cock deeper into you—and then he flips you around once more, never leaving your body. If he wasn’t balls-deep inside you, you’d probably laugh. “You like that move?”

He’s still grinning, but he doesn’t bother to answer you. Instead, he drives himself into your body, grabbing your wrists to pin them against the bed. From this position, the sensation is less intense, more bearable—and still achingly enticing. The power in his body sends you reeling, yearning for his control.

“Choke me,” you moan. He doesn’t hesitate any longer, his enormous hand wrapping easily around your throat. The pressure is just enough to send your thoughts flying, any conscious worries replaced with pure sensation—and again, you find yourself rising to meet him, coiling inside, breath quickening with his until he speaks again:

“Cum for me,” he grunts, his voice garbling with every thrust. “You look… so good when you cum.”

His first orgasm aligns with your second and he pulls out, sending thick lines of cum across your chest.

You stare at him for seconds, hours, days, maybe—but probably only for seconds. Then, he’s there, beside you, his arm around your chest. He doesn’t seem to mind that he’s getting his own cum on himself; in fact, he pulls you in close, head nuzzling into your neck. His breathing is still heavy against you, caught swiftly in a contented sigh.

“How was that?” he murmurs, his gravelly voice decadent in your ear.

“Mmmm,” you say in response. You really don’t have any appropriate words otherwise. He chuckles, but says nothing else. He is there, in the curve of your body, the big spoon to your little spoon, keeping you safe.

And in a few moments, you feel something hard against your ass.


	2. Chapter 2

His recourse is impressive—especially considering his age. You turn to face him, and a ghost of a smile plays along his lips as he, apparently, reads your expression. “They did a lot to this body back then,” he explains simply. “Comes with some perks.”

You feel heat rush to your face—and your crotch. If he can keep this going, you’re prepared to join him all night.

Well. Sort of. You’re actually pretty sensitive at the moment, and just the thought of going anywhere near your clit so soon makes you wince in pain. Fortunately, you know how to keep him occupied while you cool down. Your lips brush his in a light embrace, and then: “Sit at the edge of the bed.”

He doesn’t hesitate to obey your order. You take a moment to admire his form—again. Perhaps you’ve spent a bit too much time staring at him, but he’s _handsome_ , his shoulders alone seemingly double the size of any part of you. The cut of his face seems almost bizarre when set in a smile, but the shimmer in his eyes shows that his playfulness is genuine.

Once you’ve had your fill, you slide off the bed, coming to kneel in front of him. From this angle, his cock looks even more intimidating. God, and you had that _inside_ you.

Truly, the human body is a marvellous invention.

Your mouth runs along the sides of his legs, up his war-torn thighs. His muscles flex under your touch, an exhibition of his warrior strength—which only makes his tenderness even more endearing. You nibble him a bit, teasing as best you can—but his cock looks too delicious to ignore. With a gentle, reverent grip, you lift it between your fingers. It pulses in your hand, firm and ready for you. You press a kiss to his shaft, relishing the moan he gives you—and then, finally, you bring it into your mouth.

You take only a little bit at first, wrapping your lips just past the tip of his length. Between his legs, you’re intoxicated by the raw scent of sex on his cock, by the sweet musk of him intermingled with your own perfume. Still, you convince yourself to bring your gaze upward to watch his face. You expect to see him with his head back, relaxing into sensation—but instead, his eyes lock with yours. You swallow instinctively—and _that_ makes him close his eyes.

Short of breath and cock-hungry, you continue your work. Your motions are careful, worshipful; you’re unsure of exactly what to do, but you’re excited to do it. As you draw him in, his sounds are just as decadent as the taste of his cock.

“That’s it,” he groans, letting a hand fall lightly on your head. “Great job…”

You take him in deeper, nourishing yourself in him. He is warm, growing warmer still, your sweat intermingling with his. With each stroke, he drawls out some kind of praise, making your heart glow. The first time you suck on his cock, he lets out a moan that would make you fall to your knees if you weren’t already there.

His pleasure is exhilarating. You continue to taste him, suck him, fuck him with your mouth, but when he lets out a high-pitched whine, you can’t help yourself. You reach between your legs, kneading into your slick lips, moving with the rhythm of your mouth to feed your pleasure as you feed his. You fuck him, hard.

"Good... good job," he manages, his already-growly voice distorted even more through gritted teeth. "You're—ah!" His voice is cut off as you give him a particularly insistent suck, pulling away with a flick of your tongue on his head. "Fuck—”

He can probably keep it up forever, but your jaw can’t. You grasp his cock, trying out different pressures and speeds until you notice what really makes him stiffen. He gasps, moaning your name, fingers clutched hard against your scalp, but you don’t stop. You keep going, alternating between mouth and hand until with a cry he finishes, cum decorating your face. You take it all with pride.

There’s a muteness in the room as he stares dazedly down at you, and you up at him. In all the excitement of his orgasm, you forget for a moment that you haven’t yet finished—though a twitch of your clit quickly reminds you. As his gaze rakes your body, he seems to take note of your hands between your legs. He lifts your chin with his finger, ferocity in his eyes. “C’mere.”

You follow his touch as, seemingly with only a finger, he pulls your face almost level with his. He tucks your legs around his waist, bringing your hot pussy flush with his cock. His closeness makes you whimper—as does his teeth at your throat. With a sigh, you let him cover your cum-streaked body with nips and kisses. As he does, he murmurs little words of admiration. “You taste amazing… you smell incredible… I could hold onto these hips all day… _god_ , you’re beautiful…”

Every word makes you feel more desperate, more flushed. And once again, you can feel his cock grow hard against you, aching to push between your lips. As his teeth sink into the upper part of your breast, you realize you can’t take it anymore. You need to give one more order.

“ _Fuck me_.”

Before you know it, he’s picked you up and slammed you into the wall, his cock deep inside you. You gasp, so caught off-guard that you could swear your heart stops beating. He pays no mind. Instead, he pulls your leg to the side, supporting your entire body easily as he thrusts into you. His teeth dig into your neck, a snarl passing through his throat. Each pound sends you reeling, striking your already sensitive flesh with such abandon that you almost forget who you are. You’re reeling, falling, floating outside yourself—and then are yanked fiercely back to the moment when your gaze locks with his.

You cum with him, fingernails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stays there for a few moments, cock deep inside you, chest heaving against yours. When he finally pulls away, cum spills between your legs. You admire the sight for a second—and then your knees buckle.

Fortunately, he’s there to catch you, but you realize all at once how utterly exhausted you are. Your body has been worked to its heights of pleasure, and while he may be practically superhuman, you need some rest. For that matter, you think as you accidentally wipe cum across your face, you need a bath.

The soldier’s lips are dry but gentle against your forehead. “C’mon, kid. Time to wash up.”

You pad obediently after him, still in a bit of a daze. As you wander toward the bathroom, exhausted and covered in cum, you hear his last question.

_Did you have a good time?_

A good time? Oh, you just had _several_ good times. And tomorrow, you’re ready to do it all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! For more information on me/my writing, check out my Tumblr at allyitis!


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